Mind Control and Other Hazards of Gardening
by RadioShack84
Summary: A garden is discovered on Atlantis and someone in the city is willing to resort to violence to preserve its secrets, secrets which could prove fatal to the entire expedition.  Contains Shep whump. COMPLETE.
1. Sucker Punched

Disclaimer: I don't own SGA or any characters recognizable from the show, nor am I making any money from this. I am, however, seeking a job so if you want to pay me to write SGA episodes, let me know! ;)

A/N: This story is complete in 11 parts. They are all finished, and one part will be posted every day or three until they are all up. This story contains Shep whump, so if that is not your cup of tea, you have been warned. Otherwise, enjoy. :)

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Chapter 1 / 11

It was a great day for exploring. John had declared as much to McKay at breakfast, and to Elizabeth at their morning briefing. Rodney, as per usual, was less than enthusiastic since there weren't any ZPMs or the glaring potential for Nobel Prizes involved. Elizabeth had mountains of paperwork, also as per usual, and had agreed with him simply to be agreeable, or at least that was the opinion John took away from the briefing. With no missions scheduled for the next couple of days, they all found themselves with some down time, and Elizabeth just wanted John out of her hair so she could attend to the paperwork. And, at the time, he had been happy to oblige.

Now, at 1736 hours, he was seriously considering calling off his exploration for the evening. He was tired of walking. Even though he'd planned his route carefully so that he would end up near his starting point after traveling in a wide arc through some of the farther-reaching uninvestigated areas, he was still probably half a mile from the area of the city inhabited by the expedition members. John's stomach growled, indicating its agreement that enough was enough.

Somewhat irritably, Sheppard glanced at his LSD and followed the path it laid out, which had him turning to the right down a narrow corridor. He had to hand it to the Ancients. They sure knew how to make a whole lot of nothing take up a whole lot of space. The corridor was dim, and Sheppard switched on the light on his P-90, shining it straight ahead. He had lost all interest in this section of the city over an hour ago and his only concern at present was getting back to civilization (as it were) without tripping over any Ancient junk. His light glinted off something shiny on a panel to his left, and John idly brushed his fingertips across it. It glowed faintly in response and he heard a quiet whirring noise. Then he was suddenly blinded as a reddish-orange light assaulted him from both sides. John dropped to a crouch on the floor, reflexively raising his P-90.

When he found that he wasn't incinerated, shot, or otherwise instantly deceased, John got to his feet a bit sheepishly. The bright light wasn't a result of a blazing inferno—well, all right, if you wanted to be technical it _was_—but it wasn't of the type that was going to turn him into a crispy critter. He stared out the windows that now lined either side of the corridor, and blinked a few times. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light of a colorful sunset, he noticed a pier stretched out before him, but he was unable to see the water from where he stood. Curiosity piqued, John looked carefully along the wall of his present walkway, and touched another panel, not dissimilar to the one that had caused the windows to be revealed. This one, however, triggered doors that granted him access to the pier.

Sheppard relaxed his stance somewhat as he took in the objects of interest that were obscuring his view of the water. Several hedge-like plants, which reached his chest in height, spread the width of the pier, save for a walkway in the center. Beyond those, row upon row of raised gardening beds contained what appeared to be vegetable- and fruit-producing plants. The plants weren't overrunning their given areas, but they weren't exactly an example of the neatest sowing job he'd ever seen either.

Fruit resembling tomatoes hung from the first group of plants. John wondered why he'd never heard about this garden area before now. Obviously it wasn't left over from the days when the city had been inhabited by the Ancients. There were a few botanists among the science team, however, and knowing how protective Rodney was when it came to his discoveries, he really wasn't surprised that they didn't want this place advertised openly. Still, he made a note to ask Elizabeth about it when he got back. In the meantime, he figured a nice leisurely stroll through the newfound garden was in order both as a reward for his otherwise uneventful day, and for the sake of the exploration itself. John even considered munching on one of the tomato-things and then thought better of it, not yet knowing the exact reasoning behind this Pegasus-style Eden.

Leaving the tomatoes behind, he stepped into the shade of the next section. Dark green leafy plants stretched high overhead, their main chutes bearing a striking resemblance to cornstalks. Higher up, more chutes branched off and joined the plants from both sides of the walkway together about four feet above his head, forming a canopy that appeared to stretch on ahead for at least thirty meters or so. The species of plant was unfamiliar to him, and it didn't seem to be a bearer of any edible fruits or vegetables. Unless the plant itself was edible, which didn't seem very likely due to its mottled, fuzzy-looking surface; it was another thing to question certain scientists about later.

John walked on and found himself blinking more and more rapidly as he passed the halfway point of the crop's growing area. There was a humid haze in the air, thickest just beneath the canopy of leaves and tapering to invisibility just above his knees. Oddly, it was making his eyes feel gritty and dry and his eyelids wanted to stick together. Slowing his pace, he rubbed at his eyes, which only served to cloud his vision. It figured that he wouldn't find a single plant he was allergic to until one of McKay's colleagues started gardening. He was going to give Rodney the third degree if—"What the hell?!"

Sheppard fell to the ground, his thoughts scattered, courtesy of the hard shove he'd just received from behind. Pushing himself up on his hands, he turned his head trying to see the person responsible. John only caught a glimpse of a blurry figure before a blow to his jaw snapped his head backward forcefully. He tasted blood as he staggered upright, and raised his head to give his assailant a piece of his mind—not to mention a black eye or two—but was beat to the punch. Literally. A fist buried itself in his stomach and he doubled over, gasping for air that had been knocked out of him. He'd been gut-punched before, and it never felt good, but this time it felt as though he'd been hit with a brick or something equally more solid than flesh and bone knuckles.

Before Sheppard was able to recover or ponder the topic further, the attacker had grabbed his 9mm from its holster and brought it down hard across his face, unclipping the P-90 from his vest and throwing it aside in the process. John saw stars, but shot out his hand instinctively, catching the man's wrist. He used his other hand to try to pry the man's fingers away from his gun.

"You'd best forget what you've seen here!" an unfamiliar voice growled in Sheppard's ear.

"That wouldn't be all that much now, would it?" John grunted, and suddenly had his gun back in his hand, only to involuntarily drop it when the fire of a knife blade penetrated his bicep. Probably his own knife with how this fight seemed to be going. He bit back a cry of pain even as a dark hood was pulled over his head, effectively obscuring his view of everything. "Oh, very funny!" Dropping to the ground, which really wasn't that much of a conscious effort, Sheppard lashed out with his leg hoping to knock the stranger's feet from beneath him, but didn't make contact. Whoever he was fighting was too damn fast, and landed a kick to his gut, curling him into a ball. "What do you want?" John moaned, clutching his stomach. He could tell his vision was beginning to gray at the edges, even with the hood in place.

"Leave!" The man snarled, lashing out again with his boot. John felt pain erupt in his lower back, then there was darkness.

* * *

TBC… 


	2. Walking Wounded

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. This part's kind of short, so I decided to post it early. :)

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Chapter 2 / 11

The pain was the first thing John was aware of when he came to. His back and right arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat, as did the majority of his face, and that was just for starters. If he didn't have broken ribs he'd be very surprised, his stomach would be lucky if it could ever hold food again as he felt certain there was a gaping hole in it thanks to his attacker's boot, and the very thought of food made him nauseous.

John considered calling Beckett then and there to avoid moving, but he had even less idea of what was going on now than he had when he'd first discovered this place, and he wasn't going to have anyone else rushing in and getting attacked. After a few moments of blinking, John managed to get his eyes to stay open. He saw stars…but not the kind that came from getting knocked on your ass by a psychotic gardener. He was staring into the night sky of Atlantis, which was spinning lazily above him, and he idly wondered where the hood had gone that the gardener had pulled over his head shortly before he blacked out. With that thought, his consciousness caught up fully with the present time and he made to sit up, eyes darting around and searching for evidence that his attacker was still nearby. John's head and shoulders barely lost contact with the ground before he slumped back down though. Everything was listing crazily around him, and the pain from his midsection nearly caused his vision to gray out again. "Craaaaap," John groaned.

He lay still for several minutes, letting the world settle before he risked turning his head carefully to the side to take a look around. John noticed his sleeve was a darker color than normal and he moved his arm experimentally, hissing at the pain. So, it would appear he hadn't imagined the knife wound. Not seeing anything else of interest, he rotated his head to look in the other direction and found his P-90, 9mm, and knife laid out neatly in a row beneath one of the planting beds. Apparently he had been dragged back toward the entrance of the garden, because the weird fog-generating plants were no longer within his line of vision, and he thought he could make out some of the tomato-things in the moonlight.

As much as he dreaded the idea of moving, Sheppard knew he had to get out of here and get Lorne on the search for the gardener. He was sure McKay would want to get in on the action too, if for no other reason than being jealous that he hadn't heard anything about this place before. In slow motion, John rolled himself to the left, pushing himself up on his good arm to avoid putting any pressure on his ribs, and after what felt like an hour made it to his knees, though he remained slightly hunched over so as not to stretch his bruised torso. Surprisingly, he was still wearing his headset and he switched it on, clearing his throat. "Sheppard to Major Lorne."

"Lorne here, sir."

"Major, I need you to lock down a section of the city for me. Get your team together and get a fix on my location. I'll be headed away from here shortly, but no one else in or out until I say. I suggest you bring stunners with you, and if you see anyone, stun them and hold them for questioning. Otherwise, just set up a perimeter and stand guard."

"Yes sir. Colonel, if you don't mind my asking, what's this about?"

"I was out exploring when I discovered the pier that I'm on now. That's about as far as I got when I was attacked. I didn't get a good look at the guy, but he's fast and he knows how to fight so watch yourselves."

"Are you injured, sir? Do you want me to call Dr. Beckett?"

"That won't be necessary, Major. I'm heading to the infirmary now. Do you have a fix on my location?"

"Got it, sir. We'll be there in about 20 minutes."

"Good enough. Sheppard out." John crawled the short distance to the planting area where his guns and knife lay. He pulled himself up to sit on the planter's frame and carefully reached down to pick up the weapons. The P-90 clipped back onto his vest easily, but he opted to tuck the 9mm inside his vest rather than trying to twist around to reach his thigh holster with his left hand. The knife went through a loop on the vest as well. He pulled a field dressing from a pocket and awkwardly wrapped it around his injured arm, not really caring that his finished product looked like something a drunken five-year-old had done. That task completed, the next step was to attempt standing and John was thankful that his legs seemed to be pain-free, if a bit shaky. Pressing a hand to his aching stomach, he took a few tentative steps using the planter frame for support until he felt mildly confident that he wouldn't keel over.

That confidence didn't last very long though, and his journey toward the infirmary seemed never-ending. Thankfully, he didn't encounter anyone who wanted to talk, just a couple of bio-chemists who looked at him strangely, probably because of the blood streaking his face, before continuing a heated discussion about a topic he was sure he would never have the remotest interest in. Still, by the time he reached the doors to Beckett's domain, his keel-over probability was getting dangerously high. Fiery pains were shooting through his back and stomach and his head felt like it was floating a few feet above his neck.

He thought open the doors, but nearly ran into them when they didn't budge. Putting more mental effort into opening doors was proving too difficult a concept, so John reached out and palmed the door's panel, which had the desired effect. "Hey, Doc? You got a minute?"

* * *

TBC… 


	3. Unexaggerated Rumors of Near Demise

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to all who have reviewed! I really appreciate your comments. :)

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Chapter 3 / 11 

Carson Beckett heard the infirmary doors slide open, but was busy cataloguing the supplies the Daedalus had delivered the day before and so didn't look up until he heard a familiar voice address him. "Bloody hell…" he cursed softly, concern creasing his features upon seeing Sheppard. He set down the supplies and hurried over to the battered colonel, as it looked like the doorframe Sheppard leaned against might well be the only thing keeping the man on his feet.

Beckett took note of the bruising on John's face and the sluggishly bleeding cut over his eyebrow, as well as the field dressing on his right arm while he slowly steered Sheppard toward a bed. About halfway there, John swayed and mumbled, "Doc…dizzy…"

Carson saw his face go a shade whiter, and quickly changed direction. "Easy, Colonel. Here, have a seat." Beckett eased John into a nearby chair. "Head down if ya can manage," he instructed, having noticed how John was walking stiffly and trying not to bend. Pulling up another chair, Beckett sat down across from him and waited while the man regained his equilibrium. After a moment John looked up at Carson and attempted to straighten from his hunched position, but didn't really succeed.

"What in the world happened to ya, son?" Beckett asked, pulling on gloves and peering at the gash over John's eye.

"Some nut-job gardener attacked me. I didn't even know Atlantis _had_ a garden until today."

Carson's eyebrows went up a bit. "Me neither."

"I sent Lorne to lock down the area, and told him to shoot first and ask questions later if he saw anyone." He shot Beckett a half-smile, but it quickly turned to a grimace.

The doctor forced down his anger and disbelief that someone in Atlantis had deliberately done this and managed a wry smile in return. "Good, because I'm afraid it's going ta take a bit longer than a minute for me to get you sorted out, lad." He pulled his penlight from his pocket, and flicked it in each of Sheppard's eyes, not missing the increased tension on John's face as he did so, or how the colonel's eyes squeezed closed the second he was done. "Dare I ask how far ya walked ta get here?"

John gave a humorless chuckle at that. "I wouldn't."

Beckett shook his head, but didn't press further on the topic. "Do ya know what he hit ya with?" he asked instead while continuing to take John's vitals. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what he heard, anymore than he liked the results he was getting from his initial exam.

"My sidearm, his fists…his boots." John's back seemed to throb worse in response to the thought and he winced. "Guess he thought it would be fun to stab me with my own knife too," he added, gesturing in what he thought was the direction of his arm.

"Did ya lose consciousness?" Carson watched his sluggish movements, pretty sure he already knew the answer. While Sheppard's pupil reactions weren't directly indicative of a concussion, he was still a bit too out of it for Beckett's liking.

"Yeah, but not from the gun to the face. He decided to kick me when I was down. Literally." John blinked slowly, his unfocused gaze directed at the floor.

"Where?" Beckett asked, unclipping the P-90 from John's vest and placing it on the floor before unfastening the vest itself, setting aside the 9mm and knife as he went. He glanced back up at Sheppard, who had yet to answer him. "Lad, you with me?" Carson asked, gently squeezing John's shoulder.

"Yeah, sorry. Uh…stomach and lower back, maybe somewhere else after I passed out. Not sure." John tensed slightly as Beckett carefully removed his vest. The doctor nudged him forward a little and he felt his shirt being lifted in the back.

"That's quite the bruise ya have there, Colonel." Carson had barely touched the area when John grunted and again squeezed his eyes shut in pain.

"That's an understatement," he gasped, waiting for the fire in his back to dissipate so he could breathe properly. Suddenly the world seemed to shift sideways and he must have tilted with it because he felt hands pushing him back upright and holding him there.

With heavy-lidded eyes he met Carson's concerned gaze. "Come on, son. Ya need ta lie down for a bit. Do ya think ya can stand?" At Sheppard's nod, Beckett took hold of his arm and helped him out of the chair, keeping his grip firm as he guided his unsteady patient the rest of the way to the bed. John's eyes slid closed as soon as his head touched the pillow, though the tension in his body didn't lessen in the slightest. He tried to roll onto his side, but didn't get far before Beckett was gently pushing him back down. "Take it easy, lad. I know you're hurting and I'll get ya somethin' to help with that shortly, but until I've ruled out internal injuries, I need ya ta stay as still as possible."

Drawing a shaky breath, John nodded. Beckett turned to a passing nurse. "Would ya bring me a couple of ice packs and an IV kit, love?"

"Yes, Doctor." She hurried off to get the requested items and Beckett pulled the privacy curtain partway around before he turned back to John, who was fixing him with an annoyed look.

"Don't start with me, Colonel," Beckett warned. "I can see without even lookin' at the wound that ya lost a considerable amount of blood from gettin' stabbed, and you're showin' signs of dehydration. Ya know well enough that ya need the fluids, not ta mention it'll save me from havin' ta listen to your 'pincushion' remarks from here on."

John opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and sighed in defeat, which was apparently more movement than his torso felt was necessary and the throbbing started up again, pulsing through his ribcage and twisting down into his gut. He was unable to completely stifle a moan, his hand again pressing to his stomach, and it took conscious effort not to curl up. Through the haze, he felt Beckett grasp his wrist and move his hand away. Then there was tugging on the front of his shirt and a sound that caused him to open his eyes suspiciously. Yep. The doc was making quick work of cutting away the black material. John groaned softly. "Another one bites the dust," he muttered, though to tell the truth, he didn't really feel that bad for the shirt at the moment. The damned thing deserved its fate for not protecting its owner better.

"Sorry about the shirt, Colonel, but I don't think your body would appreciate sitting up again just now and I need ta take a quick look at your stomach and ribs. I'll be as careful as I can, but I'm afraid it's going ta be a bit uncomfortable. Just let me know if I'm hurtin' ya." Beckett began gently probing John's ribs and abdomen, taking note of two sizable areas of bruising. One was near the bottom of his left ribcage, and the other central to his stomach. Both were exceedingly tender, and the slightest pressure had John biting back curses and Beckett apologizing.

"What's the verdict, Doc?" Sheppard asked somewhat breathlessly when Carson had finished.

"Severe bruising, and I'm fairly certain ya have at least one or two cracked ribs. I need ta get a scan anyway ta check for internal injuries so we'll know soon enough, but there's no rigidity which is a good sign. How bad is the pain?"

"Somewhere between bar fight loser and Satan's houseguest."

Carson raised his eyebrows at the description, but patted John's arm. "Aye, well I think we can remedy that in short order." Just then the nurse returned, setting down the tray of requested items on a nearby cart. "Thanks, love. I also need ya ta get the scanner ready for the colonel if ya would." She nodded and smiled briefly at John before hurrying off once again. "Can ya lift your head a bit for me, lad?"

He did as requested and Beckett carefully pressed one of the ice packs to the back of his neck, then eased him down again. John shivered but didn't complain. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to turn his head in a few hours otherwise. Getting smashed in the face with a nine-mil and punched in the jaw were good ways to wrench one's neck and trigger one hell of a migraine, so the ice was welcome relief on both counts, helping to numb the headache to the point that John found himself drifting. He managed to completely ignore Beckett inserting the IV into his arm. It was the removal of the field dressing from his other arm that snapped his attention painfully back to the present.

"Do me a favor, Doc. Next time you see me carefully sharpening my knife remind me of this incident, would you? I think I'll leave it dull from now on."

"Believe it or not, the damage is probably easier ta repair this way. Not ta say it hurts any less…" Beckett glanced at Sheppard sympathetically and started examining the wound more closely, but his patient's strangled yelp halted his actions. John had gone nearly as pale as the sheets he was lying on. "Colonel?"

"Just do what you need to, Doc. I'll manage," Sheppard rasped.

"I'm nearly finished, lad." Beckett reassured, deciding to cut his examination short. He quickly re-dressed the wound, which earned him a questioning look from Sheppard as John had been expecting to be tortured with antiseptic first. "It doesn't appear ta be infected and the bleeding isn't that bad now, so leavin' it for a while longer shouldn't be a problem. We'll worry about gettin' it clean and stitched up after your scan," Beckett explained.

John was about to reply when he heard a female voice call Beckett's name from somewhere beyond the curtain. "Is that Elizabeth?"

"Let me worry about her, Colonel. You just keep this on your jaw for a bit and rest. I'll be back in a minute with something for the pain." Beckett handed the other ice pack to John and made sure he had it positioned over the worst of the bruising before he disappeared around the curtain to meet Elizabeth, who was headed his way. "Ah, there you are Carson."

Beckett snapped off his gloves and disposed of them, then smiled grimly at Elizabeth and took her arm, steering her away toward his office. "What can I do for ya, lass?" he asked, his tone letting her know that he already knew why she was there.

"Was that John you were just with?" she asked without preamble.

"Aye."

"So it's true? He was attacked?" A concerned frown crossed Elizabeth's features.

"I'm afraid so. He came in about half an hour ago and told me he'd been in a fight with a gardener. Since when does Atlantis have a bloody garden anyway?" Beckett asked, anger thickening his accent somewhat.

"Since today, apparently. All of this is news to me as well. Is John going to be all right?"

Carson sighed. "Well, whoever it was caught the colonel off guard, and they didn't do the lad any good, that's for sure. He was beaten pretty badly, but he should be on the mend in a few days. And before ya ask, no, ya can't see him just yet. He has severe bruising to his stomach and kidney region, most likely a couple of cracked ribs, not ta mention a knife wound to his arm, and a nasty headache from takin' a gun barrel to the face. He's in a fair amount of pain at the moment and not in any shape for visitors. I really need ta get back to him."

Wincing at the description, Elizabeth nodded. "Of course. Any idea how long it might be until I can talk to him?"

"I'll need at least a couple of hours ta take some scans and get his arm sutured properly. Ya can stop back around midnight if ya like, but he needs ta rest so if he's sleepin' you're not ta wake him."

"Understood. Take care of him, Carson."

"Aye, that I will, love." Beckett patted her arm and made his way back to his patient, stopping along the way to collect the promised painkillers. He was pleased to find that Sheppard was dozing, albeit restlessly. After he'd injected the contents of the syringe into the colonel's IV, Beckett located the nurse and together they wheeled John in for the necessary scans. He didn't wake and his breathing was now deep and steady, which Beckett took as a sign that the pain medication was having the desired effect. "Bring me the results as soon as ya have them," he told the nurse. "If the colonel's scan shows him clear of a concussion I'll want him under sedation so I can see to that stab wound."

* * *

TBC... 


	4. Night Terrors

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to musik-luvr, Titan5, neptune60, corkieshome, ShepsReyna, Denise, and Delka for your kind reviews of Chapter 3 :)

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Chapter 4 / 11 

"_Sheppard! The chair! You have to fire the drones! They're coming!!"_

_John looked at Rodney, who was busy ripping apart the panel controlling the door to the chair room. The panel sizzled, showering Rodney with sparks. McKay cursed and jumped out of the way. "Chop chop! Today! That's not going to hold them off for long and I don't want my life sucked out of me if you don't mind!"_

"_I'm trying!" John had only sat down in the chair a moment ago, but it wasn't responding and it had already been longer than it ever took him to get results. He could hear the Wraith outside the door, pounding and clawing at it, so he slammed himself back into the chair and put everything he had into focusing on firing the drones. After an interminable moment, he warily cracked open an eyelid. Nothing. "Dammit! McKay, are you sure this thing's on? Could it have been damaged in the first attack?"_

"_Yes I suppose it could have been, but it wasn't! Why? What's wrong?" McKay's sarcasm turned to panic in the space of a few seconds. John couldn't say he was too far behind the physicist on that one._

"_Nothing's happening Rodney, that's what's wrong. I'm telling this thing to power up and help me kill the Wraith, but it's not listening!"_

"_Oh that's preposterous! You barely even have to think about the chair to make it work. Did you break it or something?"_

_Rodney crouched down to check the chair's base, but suddenly a pale hand was pulling him away. John watched in horror as the Wraith threw him to the floor and ripped his shirt away. Three more Wraith entered the room behind the first, and John stood up from the chair to pull the first off of Rodney, but the others were already on him, holding him down. He heard Rodney scream even as he struggled against them._

"Nooo! Get off him! McKaaay!!" John yelled, his voice raw and lacking some of its normal volume. He tried to get up, but everything hurt, especially his middle. Were the Wraith feeding on his stomach?! He looked around and realized with a start that they were gone. So was McKay. He made an effort once again to sit up, blinking in confusion as his surroundings momentarily came into focus, but abruptly began spinning. He heard something beeping wildly off to his left, then hands were gripping his shoulders and gently but firmly pushing him back onto the bed.

"Colonel, I need ya ta calm down, son. Everything's all right. Just relax now."

John struggled briefly until recognition of the soothing Scottish accent slowly filtered through to his brain. He found Beckett and a nurse standing over him looking worried. "Doc?" he frowned, finally able to focus. "What's going on?"

"Ya were havin' a nasty nightmare from the look of it, but that's not entirely unexpected with the medication and what happened to ya earlier. How're ya feelin'?"

John considered it for a moment. Now that the adrenaline was fading, every muscle ached, including areas that hadn't taken a beating from their friendly neighborhood green-thumb. "Like I was tackled by one of the Jumpers, and then lost to Teyla in a stick-fight. How long was I out?"

"It's just after 0130. Ya slept through your scan and the surgery, and I was figuring ya were out for the night."

"Wait…surgery? What surgery?" John asked, the beep of the cardiac monitor speeding up minutely and betraying his anxiety.

Beckett smiled and rested a reassuring hand on his patient's shoulder. "Don't get yourself all riled, lad, you're doing fine. That knife just did a wee bit more damage to the muscle than I originally thought, and I wanted ta make sure everything was back together the way it should be before I closed up the wound. Your blood pressure dropped on us once though, that's why you're still here in recovery for a bit."

John nodded, shifting uncomfortably. His back was still throbbing viciously, even though Beckett had him on the good stuff. He could tell from the way his mind felt fuzzy, but the fact that he was able to think at all probably indicated that it was beginning to wear off. He tried to ignore the pain and asked, "Has Lorne's team weed-whacked Jungle Boy yet?"

Smiling a bit at the phrasing of the question, Carson shook his head. "Last I heard they had picked up a life sign in the area, but it vanished before they could get a fix on it."

"Where's my radio? I need to get Rodney down there with Lorne to see if he can find any clues about what's going on. That garden we never knew existed might just be a front for something else we never knew about." Shifting again he bit his lip and tried not to wince.

"You need ta rest. It's the middle of the night," Carson chided. "I'll let Rodney know the situation, but first I'm gettin' ya some more pain meds so ya can get some sleep."

"It's that obvious, huh?" John smiled sheepishly. His back really did hurt, so he wasn't ready to complain about being drugged to the gills for a little while longer.

"Aye. 'Jungle Boy' managed ta crack three ribs and bruise your kidney, among other things. I'd say it's just a wee bit obvious that ya might be in pain, lad." There was a measure of humor in his voice, but he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes the colonel could be considerably more daft than one would expect for his level of intelligence. Beckett disappeared for a moment and returned with a small syringe which he emptied into John's IV port. "Better?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah…thanks, Doc," John mumbled sleepily as the throbbing dissipated into the background and he drifted back into darkness.

* * *

TBC… 


	5. Variations on a Dream

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to corkieshome, Titan5, and musik-luvr for your reviews of Chapter 4!

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Chapter 5 / 11

John's second return to awareness wasn't much better than the first. The nightmare starred a Wraith gardener, but he was the main course this time around instead of McKay. The Wraith completely ignored the physicist and snacked on John while Rodney tried ineffectually to launch the drones from the chair. He awoke when the ceiling of the chair room was raining fiery rubble down on his grotesquely-aged body, but managed to stifle the scream in his throat before it escaped.

His face was slick with sweat and he felt overheated, despite the fresh ice pack that rested beneath his neck. He realized he was back in the main part of the infirmary, which he supposed was a good sign. John began to take stock of his condition while trying to get his ragged breathing under control. He noticed that his right arm rested on a pillow, and he was able to crane his stiff neck just far enough to see the heavy bandaging that covered his bicep. His ribs had been taped up like a textbook mummy, and his back was behaving itself so long as he didn't move around much. His stomach…well, that was another story. John splayed his fingers against it, trying to ease the dull ache that Beckett's happy juice didn't quite take care of, but only succeeded in aggravating his growing nausea. Glancing around, he didn't see any possible receptacles in the immediate vicinity. This was so not good. Of all the times for the infirmary to be deserted…

Quick motion was definitely out of the question, so John sat up ever so slowly, using his left arm for leverage to avoid disturbing his midsection as much as possible. Thankfully his nausea didn't spike drastically as he did so, but it wasn't dissipating either. Groaning more from the thought of getting up than from discomfort, Sheppard pushed his blankets aside and was relieved to find he was at least wearing scrub pants. The top had been foregone for obvious reasons.

Spotting a trash can a few feet away, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pausing then when his stomach rolled irritably. With a practiced hand, he switched off the cardiac monitor and disconnected the leads. Continuing at his steady snail's pace, John somehow made it to his feet by using the IV pole for support, though his back and arm protested the disturbance loudly. He could ignore the pain to an extent. The nausea, not so much.

"Colonel? Just what do ya think you're doin'?"

Uh oh. John paused for a moment at hearing the stern Scottish brogue and quick footsteps coming toward him, but then continued on out of necessity. "Sorry, Doc. I'm not feeling so good." He stopped talking, clamped his mouth shut, and swallowed hard. Just a few more steps…

"Aye, that's why ya shouldn't be up. Come on, back in bed before ya fall over." Beckett moved to stand behind John, placing a hand on the wobbling man's arm to steady him, but John shrugged him off.

"No…gonna be sick…" With more speed than either man thought was strictly possible from him at the moment, John let go of the pole and hastily closed the remaining space between him and the wastebasket. He'd barely dropped to his knees beside it when he began retching, but his stomach didn't contain much, so the vomiting was soon replaced by dry-heaves that left him feeling exhausted, his ribs and back burning and making it difficult to breathe.

Gradually he became aware of someone gently rubbing circles between his shoulder blades as he struggled to get enough air past the fire in his side. "That's it, just take it easy. Slow deep breaths." The rubbing continued for a few moments longer until John finally felt confident to let go of the rim of the wastebasket and sat back on his heels, accepting the cold cloth that Beckett handed him.

"Thanks, Carson," John wiped his face and wadded up the cloth, then gestured weakly at the wastebasket. "You might want to get rid of that…I think some of the evil meatloaf from a few months back just made another appearance," he grimaced apologetically at Beckett.

"Don't be worryin' about it. I never liked that trash can anyway," Carson said, eliciting a small smirk from John. Beckett then turned serious again as he took in Sheppard's haggard appearance. "You're feelin' a bit warm, lad. Are ya in pain?"

"I think I'll live," John replied, but before he could elaborate something occurred to him. "What time is it? Did you talk to Rodney yet?"

Carson sighed in exasperation, but answered, "It's about 0500. When I talked ta him earlier his coffee habit had him awake anyway, so he said he was going ta meet up with Major Lorne and his men ta take a look. He probably drug Zelenka down there with him. That's all I know, Colonel. Quite honestly I'm more worried about you at the moment. How's your back? Can ya get up?"

John laughed a bit at that. "Hopefully, otherwise McKay'll never let me hear the end of it," he answered, trying to use his good arm to push himself up from the floor, but his muscles trembled badly with the effort so he just gripped the IV pole for balance while Beckett more or less hoisted him to his feet and helped him back to his bed.

"What's wrong, Doc?" John asked warily a few minutes later. He was again settled under his blankets and Carson was taking his vitals and frowning.

"Probably nothin'," Beckett shook his head. "You're running a bit of a fever, but that's a fairly normal reaction considering your injuries. Since you're already gettin' antibiotics for your arm, I doubt it's from infection. Is your stomach still botherin' ya?"

"A little, but not like before. The ribs have taken over." John yawned, which caused his face to start throbbing again. Wonderful. There was nothing like nightmares and losing the previous year's lunch to ruin a perfectly good drug-induced nap. He looked over and noticed Beckett injecting the contents of two more syringes into his IV. "What're those for?"

"Somethin' ta take the edge off the pain and another ta settle your stomach, just in case. It's going ta make ya a bit sleepy."

"Par for the course then. Just wake me if anything exciting happens," John mumbled. _Assuming the Wraith in the chair room don't wake me first_, he thought, feeling consciousness slipping once again.

* * *

TBC…

A/N: Sorry for another short chapter. They will be longer from here on, and significant details about what is going on with the garden are coming up next…also, I promise the next chapter doesn't end with John falling asleep. :)


	6. Let’s talk about me…okay, fine, us

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to corkieshome, DancerLover08, Titan5, twinchaosblade, Jack rocks, Kitty, Flowerhead101, and TheNaggingCube for your reviews of Chapter 5! I'm flattered that people are getting such a kick out of this. :)

* * *

Chapter 6 / 11 

"What do you _mean_ he's still asleep? It's after 0800! The colonel never sleeps that late! You used more of your voodoo potions on him, didn't you?"

"Rodney, for heaven's sake, the lad had a rough night. As I already told ya, I gave him some pain medication a few hours ago, but knowing the colonel he won't be out for much longer now. I know it's difficult for ya, but you'll just have ta be patient for a bit."

"But I need to talk to him now! It's important!"

"So talk, Rodney, but for the love of God, stop shouting," Sheppard said groggily, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, good, you're awake," McKay said, abruptly turning away from Beckett and coming over to John.

"No thanks to you," Carson muttered, following the scientist.

"There is something very weird going on here, Colonel. Did you take a close look at any of those plants? I'm no botanist, but I'm quite certain that lemons are not supposed to be purple!"

"No, McKay. I must've missed those while I was busy being the psycho botanist's punching bag. Please tell me this wasn't the important thing you needed to talk to me about."

"Yes, Rodney, or I might help the colonel slip some of those purple lemons into your next meal." Beckett glared at the physicist and then went back to making some notes on John's chart.

"Yeah, yeah, Hippocratic oath and all that, Carson. I'm so scared." McKay waved dismissively at Beckett then addressed Sheppard again. "And no, that's not my important topic. I need you to help me test a theory."

"The theory that something weird's going on?"

"Oh ha ha. Make fun of the man that's been out all night risking his life around alien lemons for you."

Sheppard actually rolled his eyes, and regretted it a moment later. His head still wasn't too happy with him. "I didn't ask you to go near any lemons, McKay. I just wanted to know if there was something out there that I'd missed, so if you wouldn't mind getting to the point…"

"And you say I'm impatient. I'll have you know that…"

"McKay!"

Rodney stared at Sheppard for a moment, but apparently decided to give the man a break. "Fine. Radek had just alerted me to the purple lemons, much to my horror, when my life signs detector stopped working. I thought it was just an equipment malfunction, until all the Ancient technology powered down. Even the life signs detector that new guy on Lorne's team was holding, what's his name? With the ATA gene? Sanders?"

"Saunders."

"Yeah, whatever. So I'm thinking some kind of weird energy field, right? Well, that theory held until Zelenka dropped one of the devices on his way back across the pier. He was taking them to the lab to try and figure out what was wrong. But, one of the Marines from the second team Lorne ordered in picked it up and it worked fine." Rodney grinned.

"So he was outside of the energy field when he picked it up." John shrugged and looked at McKay blankly.

Rodney shook his head impatiently. "No, he wasn't. You're missing the point, pay attention! He was going the opposite direction of Zelenka, _toward_ the garden, when he found the scanner. He picked it up and it powered on because of his ATA gene, and he carried it back into the garden, thinking that one of us had dropped it. When he got to me, it was still working. I asked him how he made it work, which of course he had no explanation for, then told him to give it to me so I could finally get something done. He handed it over and immediately it stopped working. I gave it back to him and it powered up again. After a few seconds of playing catch, it was pretty obvious. Something's wrong with my ATA gene."

Sheppard glanced at Carson, who seemed to be gaining interest in their conversation, then looked back to Rodney, somewhat incredulous. "How did you come to that conclusion? Everything's not always about you, Rodney. Couldn't it be that it imprints to someone specific like that personal shield so it won't work for just anyone?"

"Yes I suppose that could be it…except that we've been using those scanners for ages now and we know they don't work that way! No, there's definitely something out there interfering with the gene, and as you possess the strongest one, I need you to help me make sure. See? This is me saying not everything's about me…even if it does happen to involve me in this case."

Sheppard resisted the urge to groan. "So what exactly do you want me to do?"

"Come out there with me, make our Ancient technology glow, and then see if it stops glowing."

John considered the idea. "That sounds simple enough."

"Great. Let's go." Rodney started to tug at John's blankets, only to have Carson grip his arm, stopping him.

"Now hold on a second there, Rodney. The colonel is in no condition ta be up and about with the night he's just had," Beckett looked pointedly at John, daring him to argue, before he continued, "Not ta mention that there's at least one major flaw in your reasoning."

Rodney looked at Beckett in annoyance, crossing his arms across his chest. "And what would that be, Carson?"

"The fact that Colonel Sheppard has probably already been exposed ta whatever it may be that ya think is interfering with the ATA gene. Ya don't need ta take him anywhere ta test your theory. Just have him try ta activate somethin' here. If it doesn't work, you'll have your answer."

"Well sorry to disappoint, but I have actually already considered that option. I didn't say that the interference with the gene is permanent. The most obvious hypothesis is that it's a temporary effect from something one of the plants gives off. I'm thinking it has to be the tall tree-like ones with the weird vapor-powder thing going on. As I've already stated, botany is not my field, but whatever the cause it's probably worn off in the time Sheppard's been here, and to prove it to you…" Rodney fished in his pocket and held up his scanner. The screen was blank and dark. "I give you non-functioning Exhibit A." McKay handed the scanner to Sheppard. After a few moments it switched on. John frowned as he looked at it.

"Colonel, what's wrong?" Beckett asked.

"That took too long…" John said absently, and concentrated on bringing up information about the current energy readings in the infirmary. Key word being concentrate. The display finally showed him the information he wanted, after about twice the time it would have normally taken.

Rodney had been watching Sheppard and was looking intrigued and a little disturbed, especially when John handed the device back to him and it blinked off the second he touched it. "Was your gene working right after you left the garden?" he demanded.

"I didn't really notice." John paused for a moment. "Come to think of it, when I got to the infirmary, the doors didn't open for me like usual. I just figured that it was because I was about two seconds from passing out and my thoughts weren't exactly clear. Maybe you're actually onto something with this, Rodney."

"Oh, don't sound so surprised, Colonel."

John would've chuckled at the familiar glare plastered on Rodney's face, but their conversation had reminded him of his recent nightmares and he was a little worried that the topic of their current exchange wasn't mere coincidence. "I'm not trying to insult your intelligence, McKay. I was just thinking about something, and you're right. We need to test your theory."

"Finally you're being sensible."

"According to whom?" Carson put in, his tone clearly suggesting that he thought one or both of them were crazy. He looked at John, frowning. "Colonel, I understand that ya want ta figure this out, but your injuries are nothing to ignore. Ya need ta give yourself time ta heal before ya go off and start investigatin' things in remote areas of the city. Not ta mention that we don't even know what the substance is that those plants are giving off. If Rodney is correct, repeat exposure could be dangerous."

"More dangerous than these plants somehow showing up in the middle of Atlantis and rendering everyone's ATA gene useless? Doc, I know I'm not going to be running any marathons in the near future, but like Rodney said, all I need to do is go out there, touch a couple Ancient devices and leave." He recognized Carson's doubtful expression and continued. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think there were bigger things at stake here than proving McKay right for the millionth time."

"Such as?"

John considered telling Carson about his dreams, but he'd be damned if he was going to do it in front of McKay. The scientist got freaked out far too easily, and whether or not there was actually something to this coincidental impairment of his ATA gene, he didn't need a panicked Rodney on his hands. "As I said, possible danger to the city. I don't know much more than that, call it a semi-informed hunch. It may be nothing, but if it's not then I'd like to be able to give Elizabeth a little more to go on when the time comes," he hedged.

Beckett sighed, knowing he would probably come to regret what he was about to do. "I'll give ya two hours, Colonel. Then I expect ya back here."

"Thanks, Doc." John grinned and started to sit up, only to clench his jaw against his protesting ribs. Now it was Carson's turn to roll his eyes. He raised the bed so John could lean against it, then put up his hand to stop Sheppard from moving further.

"There are conditions, Colonel. You're not walking down there and your IV stays in for the time being. If your pain gets worse or ya feel sick, tell Rodney and he'll bring ya back here immediately, won't you Rodney?"

"Yes. Fine. You worry too much Carson."

"Aye, maybe I do, but that doesn't change the fact that the colonel is still runnin' a low grade fever and should be in bed resting, not off playing assistant-botanist." He turned to John. "If I find ya were doin' anything more strenuous than touching science scanners, lad, you'll be stuck here for a month. Am I clear?"

"Sure thing, Doc." John wasn't thrilled with Beckett's conditions, but knew that he was lucky to get the physician to agree to let him go at all.

"Good. Rodney, if you'll go fetch me a wheelchair, the two of you can be on your way." While McKay was off rounding up the chair, Beckett helped Sheppard into a scrub top and robe and insisted on administering a mild painkiller. There was no reason for the colonel to suffer, but he supposed there was equally no point to his going at all if he was too loopy to assist McKay with his experiment. By the time Rodney returned, John was perched on the edge of his bed, waiting impatiently. With a minimum of assistance, he transferred into the wheelchair and allowed Carson to drape a blanket over his legs. The doctor re-arranged John's IV, then told Rodney, "You're good ta go, just please try not ta damage him further."

"Like I would do that purposely."

"Intent isn't what I'm worried about, Rodney."

"Yes well, I don't have time to worry about it either. Let's go for a ride, Colonel. Later, Carson!" Rodney spun the wheelchair around and hurried them from the room.

* * *

John sighed and pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. The sunny warmth that had accompanied the early morning had given way to a hazy grey sky, and despite the tall strange plants surrounding them, the wind gusts were becoming vicious and growing steadily colder. "Did you accidentally order a hurricane with your malfunctioning gene, Rodney? Because this is getting a little ridiculous!" Sheppard caught a wayward corner of the blanket with one hand and pinned it securely beneath his leg to prevent the wind from whipping it in his face yet again. 

"No I didn't order a hurricane, Colonel. As if that's even possible. You complain too much. This little disturbance has been forecast for days now. There's not even supposed to be any rain."

"Well rain or not it's freezing out here. Are you almost finished?"

"I'd be finished faster if you'd stop bothering me every five seconds."

"Sorry…I'll just go back to scanning the area for life signs. Again." Sheppard looked down at the display of the LSD he was holding, for experimental purposes, and concentrated until it lit up, displaying the life signs of their small group gathered on the pier. "Yep, there's Lorne standing over by the evil lemons. And that dot over there is _Saunders_. Oh look, this dot here must be me, it's turning such a nice shade of ice blue. Ooh, and the one with the flickering level of patience, that's gotta be you, McKay!"

Rodney stopped what he was doing and turned to glare at Sheppard. "Enjoying yourself, Colonel? Because, believe it or not, I'm actually trying to work here!"

John laughed. "Come on, McKay, lighten up. Even you are capable of being wrong once in a while. Granted, it doesn't happen very often, but…uh oh."

"What happened?" McKay demanded, taking a step toward him.

"Your patience level is flickering again."

"Sheppard, seriously. You can be so childish. You know as well as I do that those things do not measure patience or any other emotion!"

"No, they don't. But I am being serious. The display is flickering."

"Really?" Rodney excitedly hurried to peer over John's shoulder at the device's screen. The display glowed brighter for a second, then dimmed, and after a moment blinked off altogether. "Excellent! Can you switch it back on?"

"I'm trying…" John put all of his focus into the device for about half a minute, then shook his head. "Nope. Looks like your theory is correct once again…let's just hope it's correct about the effects being temporary."

"Even if I'm not right about that, I'm sure Carson could fix it. His voodoo is what invented my gene in the first place. Now, if you'll let me get back to work we can get out of here sometime today."

"By all means…just pretend me and my all-natural ATA gene aren't even here."

"That won't be hard to do, since one of you is seldom mentally present anyway."

"Hey!" John frowned at Rodney's self-satisfied smile, but smirked and shook his head as soon as the scientist's back was to him and settled down to wait out the rest of McKay's analysis of his experiment.

* * *

TBC… 


	7. That Sinking Feeling

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to Titan5, musik-luvr, Jack rocks, and twinchaosblade for your reviews of Chapter 6. I had a lot of fun writing the Carson/John/Rodney exchanges so I'm glad I got them in character. :)

Without further ado, here is more... :)

* * *

Chapter 7 / 11

_John was flying, but it wasn't the sheer adrenaline-saturated speed that came with the thrill of piloting a Jumper. No, this was the gradual motion build that came with a really scary carnival ride you'd never been on before. And he didn't mean a ferris wheel. There wasn't enough lift to the motion for that, and ferris wheels weren't remotely frightening, but there were definitely wheels involved in this ride. Why did he know that? The icy wind rushing against his skin and combing through his hair caused him to open his eyes in curiosity. He'd never been one to squeeze his eyes shut for any ride, scary or not, and he wasn't about to start now. He found himself rushing forward…seated in a wheelchair and speeding toward the _end of a pier?!

"What the hell?" John tried looking behind him to see who was pushing him, but the remaining stiffness in his neck only allowed him enough range to see the sleeve of an Atlantis military uniform. "I've had enough of this little adventure, Marine! Stop now, that's an order!"

"You need to come up with some new 'shocked' expressions, Sheppard…though I guess you won't really need any now. Sorry about this. It's nothing personal and I actually thought you might sleep through the whole thing what with the way you were snoring back there, but I can't have you destroying all my hard work now, can I? I mean, if someone would have shown up here who was not in possession of the gene, my plan may well have been safe, but you and McKay have discovered too much. He and the others I will take care of later. You just be a good colonel and go for a quick swim and it'll all be over," said a gruff voice, a voice John unfortunately recognized.

"Seriously? You again? Listen, just because you came out of nowhere and beat my ass last time, don't think that means you get a repeat performance." Sheppard reached down and slammed his hand onto the wheelchair brake, but nothing happened. The end of the pier—which of course with his luck had no guard rail—was coming up fast, only about 20 feet away now, and the chair wasn't slowing down.

"Don't think I'll have to. Lucky for me this wheelchair has faulty brakes, and McKay didn't even notice when I borrowed you. Typical. So yes, I will forego a repeat of our earlier encounter."

"Sure, _now_ you decide to be nice," John said sarcastically.

"Too bad for you since this is where we part company. See ya around, Sheppard." With a final shove, the man let go and the wheelchair carrying John was left free to careen toward the open end of the pier.

"Hey!" Sheppard cried out, but Garden Weasel was already gone and John's mind had conveniently changed phrasing to _oh shit! oh shit! oh shit!_ With maybe five feet left before the edge, John's morning had definitely taken a turn for the worse. He didn't have enough room left to safely bail out, and tipping the chair over would no doubt hurt like hell and might just end with him taking a dip anyway. So, he favored the idea of extracting himself from the blanket and attempting to slow the chair's progress with his feet while futilely trying to engage the brakes. "Oh, this is _so_ not going to end well…" John muttered as the chair closed the last two feet and left his feet dangling in empty space…when the brakes caught and momentum carried him out of the chair and over the edge.

John briefly wondered what doing a belly flop with busted ribs would feel like, and decided he most definitely didn't want to find out, so he turned his body, preparing to dive into the ocean that was rushing up toward him. A few feet before he reached the water, something drew taut around his arm, slowing his descent momentarily, but effectively twisting his body and ruining his dive. He recognized that it was the IV tubing that was strangling his arm, and also that it wasn't going hold his weight. John heard something snap above him and then he was once again plummeting downward into icy darkness.

* * *

Rodney was deeply absorbed in the diagnostic he was running, and subconsciously realized that he had tuned out the world around him. Usually this was a good thing in terms of him concentrating on his work, but he was having the distinct feeling that he'd tuned out something important this time. Straightening up he turned around to ask Sheppard if he'd said something, only to find that the man in question was nowhere to be found. "Colonel?"

McKay looked in all directions, but saw no sign of Sheppard. Lorne's team was still doing their military protection thing a short distance away, but John wasn't among them. "McKay to Colonel Sheppard. Where the hell are you?" Rodney waited but received no answer on his radio. "Great. Now whatever he's gotten himself into Carson's going to blame me for it," he muttered. He started walking in Lorne's direction, intending to see just how observant Sheppard's 2IC really was, when he noticed a flurry of activity as someone in military dress jumped down from the planting bed containing the tomato-things, landed lightly on the ground, and took off running toward the city. Lorne, to his credit, immediately radioed his men on the perimeter of the city, even as two others in the group gave chase.

"Major! What is going on?" Rodney demanded, stomping up to the group.

"It looks like we may have located Colonel Sheppard's assailant."

"No, really? What was your first clue? Did you happen to locate Colonel Sheppard as well?"

"What? He was with you."

"_Was_ with me. He is so very obviously _not_ with me now!" McKay snapped.

"Where was he when you saw him last?"

"Over there," McKay pointed in the direction he'd come and started back, Lorne following. "I was working, and then I looked up because I thought he said something, but he wasn't there…are you even listening to me, Major?" McKay stopped talking and glanced at Lorne, who was squinting at something further down the pier. "What's wrong?" Rodney followed Lorne's squint, and realized what he was seeing at about the same time as the major. The two men looked at each other and abruptly began sprinting toward the empty wheelchair teetering on the edge of the pier.

"Colonel!" Lorne called, reaching the pier's end just before McKay and peering down to the water. It wasn't that far of a drop, only seven feet or so, but save for the wheelchair and tangled, broken mess of IV tubing that dangled twisting in the breeze, there was no sign of Sheppard. "Dammit!" he turned around to find McKay and the remainder of his team looking at him. Lorne started unfastening his vest and issuing orders. "Dr. McKay, call Dr. Beckett. Saunders, let Dr. Weir know the situation, then check in with Davis and see if they've caught our mystery man yet. I'm going in after Colonel Sheppard."

"Sir, the water has to be pretty cold at this time of year. Shouldn't you get some gear?" another of his men asked.

"There's no time, Corporal. We have no idea how long he's been down there." Without further conversation, Lorne shucked his boots, stepped to the edge of the platform, took a deep breath, and dove.

* * *

The painful pressure of plastic tubing biting into John's forearm converted suddenly to a feeling of a hundred rubber bands being snapped against his skin as the IV line gave under his weight and one broken end lashed at his wrist like a whip. Before his brain was able to fully register the pain, however, he was falling and his lungs inflated of their own volition as ungodly cold enveloped him.

He landed on his back and water splashed into his face, choking him. John's breathing was hitching badly as he attempted to clear the small amount of water from his seizing lungs whilst trying to stay afloat. His sluggishly thrashing arms weren't cooperating with his treading efforts, the water was tugging at his feet, but his mind still wasn't accurately processing the fact that as his body approached vertical he had started to sink. Only the most basic of instincts told him he needed to hold his breath when the freezing liquid reached his chin, then he was slipping beneath the waves.

Eventually rational thought reasserted itself, but he was still disoriented and still sinking. Damn, but it was cold. He swore his eyeballs were going to develop cataracts of ice before seeing anything that made sense, but he forced them to stay open nonetheless. In the rush of bubbles surrounding him, John was finally able to make out a gradient of dark to light and he moved to align himself accordingly. The underwater lights of Atlantis were now visible but were receding above him. Rationale persuaded him that he needed to go up, not down, that he needed to get out of the water because he was starting to shiver, and he began to kick his legs. He didn't make use of his lethargic arms, because even though the pain from the stab wound was already mostly numbed away, his ribs still hurt like no other and the effort of holding his breath was only fueling that fire.

He was within five feet of breaking the surface when he felt something twist around his foot. Lungs screaming for oxygen by this point, he tried briefly to shake loose what felt vaguely like seaweed or rope. To avoid sinking back down too far in the process he attempted a couple of sloppy strokes with his good arm, only to find that limb also tangled in something. John looked down, blinking, and recognized that the remnants of the IV line were still attached to his arm and draped further down to twine around his foot. Spots were beginning to dance before his eyes as he fumbled with the tape and quickly slid the needle out of his arm, shoving the mess away. He needed to breathe. Immediately, if not sooner. Giving a couple more kicks to rid himself of the cumbersome line, he looked toward his goal, toward the surface of the ocean which was shimmering slightly with dull grey light. He started kicking his feet again, but progress was slow and the light seemed so far away. He never before thought it possible to be this cold, this numb, and noticed with mild interest that he was shaking badly now. John looked up again and saw that the splotches of pale grey-green light were now interspersed with fuzzy patches of dark grey that sparkled brightly now and again. He needed to breathe. Now seemed like as good a time as any to do that. The patches and lights were calming. Calming was good, right? John saw bubbles, lots and lots of bubbles mixed with the grey fuzzy sparkling patches. He wasn't aware that he had stopped kicking.

* * *

TBC… 


	8. Bless You, Sister Sheppard

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to Susan the Tartan Turtle, Titan5, Jack-rocks, neptune60, TheNaggingCube, corkieshome, and twinchaosblade for your reviews of Chapter 7!

Sorry to be evil and write a cliffie…I just couldn't resist. After all, what fun is a story without at least one cliffhanger? ;)

Oh, and I know I'm a little late getting this part out…I really meant to put it up yesterday, but I had a job interview that lasted longer than I expected. When I got home I kinda just crashed, thus the delay, so anyway. Here's the next part. Enjoy:)

* * *

Chapter 8 / 11

Quiet rushing sounds, splashing, and distant voices were the first to return. He didn't know where he was, only that a certain softness cushioned every atom of his being from figuring it out. It wasn't exactly a comfortable softness, and he knew he should be a little offended that it wasn't allowing him free reign of his senses, but despite its deception he liked the numbing barrier and elected to stay within it a while longer.

Cold and motion were the next to worm their way through the softness. The cold was all-encompassing and nearly enough to pull him from within the subtle quiet shroud. The motion was mere annoyance, and he was able to ignore it because it stopped after a short time.

Then there were hands on his arms, on his face. The voices were back, somewhat closer this time, but he still couldn't make out what they were saying. A hand slid beneath his neck and tilted his chin upward slightly. Fingers pressed into the side of his throat and suddenly he had the overwhelming urge to breathe. He tried, but his body didn't exactly cooperate and for a time he was only aware of jarring spasms of coughing and something wet dripping down the side of his face as his head was gently turned to the right by one of the hands.

The choking seemed to re-awaken the cold, because as his lungs cleared enough to allow him freer access to air he began shivering. "Colonel Sheppard?" The voice was much nearer this time, and he thought he should probably pay attention to it.

"John, come on lad, open your eyes." The voice was insistent and a light tapping on the side of his face chased away the last vestiges of the cold haze he'd been drifting in. He blinked a few times and slowly the shadows hovering over him solidified into the worried faces of Beckett, Lorne, and McKay.

"H-hey, what's g-g-going on?" he rasped.

"You decided to take a dip, but for the life of me I don't know why. Do you have any idea how cold that water is?" McKay scolded.

"Y-yeah, I h-have an idea, McK-k-k-kay." Sheppard smiled faintly at Rodney and shifted his gaze to Lorne, who had a blanket around his shoulders and was obviously soaked. "Looks l-like you went sw-swimming t-too."

"No offense, sir, but I don't really want your job and I don't want to take orders from Colonel Caldwell either, so it was in my best interest to go after you." Lorne grinned.

"Thanks…I th-think." John smirked back and then sneezed suddenly.

"Bless you," Lorne said.

"No n-need for that, Major. I'm n-not that g-great of a CO," Sheppard quipped. McKay rolled his eyes.

"All right, that's enough talk, it's time we got you someplace warm, Colonel." Beckett motioned to someone and Sheppard craned his neck until he saw that two nurses and a gurney were headed his way.

"Aw, come on, D-d-doc. The wheelchair's b-bad enough, I don't n-n-need a gurney. I'm j-just a little c-cold."

"Hypothermic is what ya are, lad, which means ya get ta stay horizontal for a while, at least until we have ya dried off and I get a stable set of vitals from ya. Just relax for a bit and enjoy the ride."

Whatever reply Sheppard had been ready with was interrupted by another bout of sneezing, and before he could object further he felt several pairs of hands lifting him and gently placing him on the gurney. A blanket was wrapped around his shivering body and then they were on the move.

By the time they reached the infirmary, however, being cold was a secondary concern to John. He couldn't shake the urge to sneeze and the pressure in his sinuses made them feel like they might explode at any moment. Even Beckett, who was calling out orders for a warm IV drip and more blankets, paused to look at John when he started into what must have been his third episode since arriving. Carson finished scribbling something on a tablet and handed it back to the nurse, then came over to Sheppard, a slight frown betraying his concern. "All right, lad, what's going on? Even the cold shouldn't be makin' your nose that upset."

"You tell m-me, Doc. Feels like a r-really bad head c-cold. I'm j-just glad my ribs are still n-n-numb," Sheppard said, sneezing yet again and sniffling miserably, his eyes watering. "M-make that relatively numb."

"Well, let's have a look," Beckett said, stepping away for a moment to get the instruments he needed. He peered into each of Sheppard's nostrils and his frown deepened a bit from curiosity. Picking up a sterile swab he carefully brushed it along the inside of John's nose then placed it into a vial, capped it, and handed it off to a nurse. "Get this to the lab for analysis right away."

"That's j-just nasty, Doc," John commented, then had to resist the urge to cringe in embarrassment when Beckett held a Kleenex to his nose and instructed him to blow. Sure, he couldn't feel his fingers at the moment, but what was he, five? "What the hell's wrong w-w-with me n-now?" he asked dejectedly. He'd caught a glimpse of the…contents…of the vial, which were a particularly untoward shade of bluish-green. He'd meticulously avoided looking at the Kleenex.

"Probably an allergic reaction to the plant life in the water. I wouldn't be too worried just yet, lad."

"S-seriously? An _algae_ allergy?" John said, blinking. Despite the incessant shivering, his eyelids were growing heavy. He was secretly amazed that he still had energy to shiver. He had to hand it to the ocean. Icy water was a formidable opponent to strength. On a happier note, it seemed he'd stopped sneezing for the time being.

"Aye, that's my guess, but we'll see what the lab tests show. Right now we need ta get ya out of those wet clothes." Beckett motioned to one of his nurses to join him, then pulled the privacy curtain and together they helped the lethargic and trembling colonel to remove the saturated robe and scrubs.

That small amount of motion tired him further than he cared to admit, past his threshold for modesty, and John let his eyes slide closed as Carson and the nurse began toweling him dry. They finished and he was covered to his waist with a blanket. Faintly, he felt the bell of a stethoscope touch his chest, and for once the instrument wasn't colder than he was. John thought he heard Carson say something about wheezing and antihistamines but couldn't decide how or if that applied to him. He was aware of being lifted from the gurney onto a softer and warmer surface, then he slept.

* * *

John awoke cocooned in warmth, which surprised him because a short time before he'd been a veritable ice cube. Even now the cold wasn't completely gone, though feeling had returned to his extremities, mostly aches and pains. Fatigue wasn't a strong enough word for his current lack of energy, but recall of the events of the morning and curiosity tag-teamed to force his eyelids apart slightly and blurry vision slowly resolved to a view of the infirmary ceiling. 

From what little else he could see without moving, John concluded that 'cocooned' was definitely a proper description of his current state. Thick blankets enveloped him to his chin and another was draped around his head, leaving only his face uncovered. He imagined himself looking similar to the nuns he'd seen years ago as a child when he'd accompanied his aunt to church. The thought was so far-fetched that he chuckled softly, but his laughter quickly degenerated to quiet coughing.

Hearing footsteps approaching, John rasped, "Water."

"Slowly now," Carson cautioned, guiding a straw to John's lips and allowing him to take a few sips before pulling the cup away. Setting the water aside, he looked back at the colonel. The man was smiling, his breath hitching, and it took Carson a moment to realize that Sheppard wasn't shivering or having trouble breathing, but rather was attempting to conceal his laughter. Beckett didn't see anything particularly funny about the situation. "Care ta share the joke, Colonel? I'd be thinkin' you're loopy from the pain meds except I haven't given ya any since early this morning."

"Not…loopy, Doc," John said, letting a final laugh escape and trying to catch his breath. "I was just thinking that with all these blankets I'm starting to look like an extra from Sister Act."

Beckett grinned, recalling the film. One of his nurses had provided it for movie night a few months back. "I suppose it is a rather good thing the blankets aren't black. Regardless though, they've done the trick along with the fluids. Your temperature's almost back ta normal. How're ya feeling?"

"Tired, achy, like I've got a cold," he sniffed, and noticed that even though his head still felt congested, it was clearer than before. "But my back feels better," he added, somewhat surprised.

"Aye, if there was one thing ta be gained from your little adventure, the water temperature did bring the swelling down quite a bit. You'll still be feelin' the bruising no doubt, but it should be more tolerable."

"Tolerable would be nice. How long was I out this time?"

"A good five hours, and ya needed every minute. Water that cold will exhaust even the healthiest person in a short time, and with your pre-existing injuries the effect was more severe. You're lucky ya were only down there a few minutes."

John was letting that information sink in, when he realized Beckett was still talking, "Ya don't have a cold, per se, but it'll probably feel that way for the next day or so. As it turns out it's an allergic response to pollen, not algae, that's causin' ya ta feel poorly."

"What kind of pollen?" John asked, already having his suspicions, which Beckett confirmed.

"It's from that plant Rodney was suspicious of out on the pier. We've managed ta learn a few things about it while ya were asleep, and we're workin' right now on a way to make the pollen ineffectual."

"I take it we've found the culprit that's messing with the ATA gene then?"

Beckett nodded. "That's the working theory. Basically the pollen is inhaled and part of it absorbs into the surrounding tissue where it interacts with an enzyme specific only ta those possessing the ATA gene. This interaction produces a chemical that renders the gene inactive. Individuals without the gene aren't affected, but anyone else will be regardless of whether the ATA is naturally occurring. The science staff has been—"

"Not that I'm uninterested but bottom line, Doc?" John yawned.

"We ran a few tests and simulations and it appears that a person's immune system will naturally begin to attack and break down the chemical about nine hours after exposure, as it would a virus or bacterial infection. In your case, however, it started breaking down a lot sooner."

"Why? How do you know?"

"We took a blood sample shortly after ya went ta sleep, and another about an hour ago for comparison. Your white cell count is up. As for why now instead of later, ya took in a good amount of water. It rinsed some of the pollen free before it could start affectin' ya. The remaining particles congealed together in the water, lost surface area, and as a result couldn't absorb as much. Apparently the lack of absorption allowed the pollen to irritate your sinuses and caused the kind of normal allergy symptoms you'd expect from pollen."

"So what does all this mean? That my gene should be working again?"

"In a few hours, I expect. Your immune system has started ta break down the chemical, but the process takes time. Until then, we'll just have ta keep an eye on things. Your breathing cleared up a bit after I got some antihistamines into you, so I'm not too worried about that, but the last thing ya need right now is a fever."

John nodded and his poorly concealed yawn didn't escape Carson. "I want ya ta get a couple more hours of sleep, then Elizabeth needs ta talk to ya if you're feeling up to it."

"Did Major Lorne finally catch up with Garden Weasel?" John asked hopefully, perking up at the thought.

Carson shook his head, and looked a little annoyed. "The major has been working with Dr. McKay ta track him with the city's sensors, despite my advice that he take it easy after that little swim, but Rodney thinks that our gardener is somehow masking his life signs because every time they get close he disappears. They have some sort of plan in the works, so I'm sure it won't be long. Now, do ya need something for pain before I go?"

"Nah, I think I'm good for the moment."

"All right then. Be sure ta let me or one of the nurses know if ya start feelin' nauseous again or if those ribs are botherin' ya, otherwise I'll leave ya ta get some rest." _And I'm going to take a nap_, thought Carson. He'd had only a few short interrupted hours of sleep since the day before and it was beginning to catch up with him.

"Sure thing, Doc," John repeated for the second time that day and let his eyes close, annoyed that sleep still sounded like such a good idea. He'd have to pull a few all-nighters with McKay when he felt better just to re-balance his circadian rhythm.

Some time later Elizabeth's voice drew him back to wakefulness and he saw her conversing with Teyla and Ronon a short distance away. Ronon was glaring a bit at whatever Elizabeth was saying, and Teyla appeared nervous. John cleared his throat, hoping to avoid another coughing spell. "Hey guys, what's up?"

"Colonel, it is good to see you awake." Teyla smiled and moved closer to stand beside his bed. "Dr. McKay told us about your...adventures."

John snorted. "More like misadventures. You guys are back early from the mainland," he observed, then frowned as a thought occurred to him, "Unless Beckett let me sleep for a lot longer than a couple of hours." He glanced suspiciously at Teyla, then at Ronon.

"You are correct, John. We have returned sooner than planned."

"So I take it that storm a week ago caused less damage to the settlement than you thought?"

John didn't miss the uneasy glance Teyla sent in Elizabeth's direction before she replied. "No, unfortunately the original damage assessment was accurate, but due to…recent events…Dr. Weir requested that Ronon and I return to Atlantis."

Sheppard turned his attention sharply to Elizabeth at that. "Did something happen? Has someone else been attacked?" he demanded.

"No John, everyone is fine. We've had no further contact with your assailant. How are you feeling?" she asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

"Like I've been asleep for a year. Now, what aren't you telling me?" he looked intently at Elizabeth, allowing his annoyance at being out of the loop to show through in his expression.

"I don't know what you mean, John," she hedged.

"Sure you do, Elizabeth. Carson said earlier that you needed to talk to me about something, and you wouldn't have called Teyla and Ronon back when Lorne is in control of the situation. Also, unless Teyla's jumpiness is due to a McKay-sized caffeine overdose, I think I have a fair idea of what's going on too. So, would you like to fill me in on the details, or do I have to take a guess based on what my eerily similar nightmares have been telling me?" John started to push the pile of blankets aside, intending to get up, but quickly stopped when he realized he wasn't exactly clothed enough for that maneuver.

"All right, I'll fill you in, but you will stay here and follow Carson's instructions until he sees fit to release you," Elizabeth said, fixing him with a look that said it wasn't a suggestion.

John sighed in frustration. "I'm fine, Elizabeth. Just tell me what's going on. How many ships and how far away are they?"

If she was surprised by his question, Elizabeth didn't let on, and John continued to hold out hope that his assumptions were wrong until she sighed. "We've detected a single hive ship. It appeared about four hours ago and is currently just less than two hours out. Dr. Zelenka is running sensor diagnostics, trying to figure out why we didn't pick it up long-range."

"And I'm only hearing about this now because?" John demanded, pushing himself up further in bed.

Elizabeth merely raised an eyebrow at him. "We weren't even sure what it was we were looking at until an hour or so after it appeared. According to Radek, the ship seemed to be having major power fluctuations which were throwing off the readings, but they stabilized and we were able to confirm that it is in fact a Wraith hive."

"Can we call back the Daedalus?"

Weir shook her head. "They're already out of communications range, and even if they weren't it would be days before they could reach us. We're on our own."

"Looks like I'll be spending some time in our beloved control chair in the near future," John muttered.

"Not until we get rid of psycho-gardener you won't," Rodney said, bursting into the room, looking decidedly displeased with life as he attempted to type on his laptop with one hand, walk, and talk all at the same time. "Major Lorne was tracking him in the general vicinity of the chair room, but the LSD kept losing him. Then he showed up again, _inside_ the chair room. By the time the major and his team arrived, he had already sealed himself inside. We haven't been able to get the doors open, and my artificially activated and botanically deactivated gene isn't doing the trick either."

"Then what are you doing standing here talking to us Rodney? Go help Lorne figure it out."

McKay stared at John for a long moment, blinked, then muttered something under his breath and stalked out of the room, still punching furiously at the keys of his laptop.

"Well, that was enlightening," John said dryly. He tugged at the blankets, ensuring his modesty, then carefully sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly as his various injuries adjusted to the pull of gravity. "Ronon, Teyla, please find me some clothes so I can go help Rodney."

"John, I do not think that it is a good idea—"

"For me to walk around Atlantis dressed as the Reverend Mother of the Blanket Nuns? No, neither do I." Sheppard smiled at Teyla and made a shooing motion with his hands.

"Colonel, Teyla's right. You've been through a lot in the last 24 hours. I want you to wait and see what Carson says."

"See what I say about what?" Beckett asked curiously, entering the room.

"Colonel Sheppard will fill you in. I just remembered some paperwork that needs my immediate attention. I'll talk to you later, John. Carson." Elizabeth nodded at her CMO and made her way out of the infirmary, smiling, almost able to feel John's glare on her back.

* * *

TBC… 


	9. The Weasel You Know

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to Titan5, corkieshome, twinchaosblade, Delka, Kodiak's Sweet Breath, neptune60, and Jack-rocks for your reviews of Chapter 8. Your encouragement is most appreciated. :)

* * *

Chapter 9 / 11 

John approached the chair room slowly, with Teyla and Ronon flanking him. It had taken a lot of cajoling, and a truly artistic persuasive speech about his newfound terror of wheelchairs to get out of the infirmary on his own two feet, but Sheppard had finally won the argument. Even so, he suspected it was the impending doom of Wraith presence that really tipped the odds in his favor. Beckett had loaded him up with ibuprofen and let him go after John promised to come back later for an exam to determine whether or not he would be spending another night in the infirmary. "McKay, how goes the progress with the door?"

Rodney glanced up from his laptop at the sound of John's voice and looked at his pale friend with disapproval, then pointed at the entrance to the chair room. "Door. Still closed." He pointed to a dot on his laptop screen. "Madman. Still inside." He pointed to a nearby bench. "Before you fall down, sit down. And shut up. I'm working on it."

John exchanged an amused look with Teyla, then carefully lowered himself onto the bench. The doc hadn't been kidding when he said the bruising would still make itself known. If it weren't for current circumstances, he might have even requested more happy juice, but for the moment he needed his mind to be sharp. Sheppard rested his P-90 on his lap and peered at the door to the chair room and the control panel beside it. "It doesn't look like the panel's been shorted out. Was the door jammed somehow from the inside?"

"Not likely. If that were the case we'd get some sort of grinding sound from the locking mechanism when activating it. So far, nothing."

"Maybe it won't let you in because your gene's not functioning?"

"No, that is not the problem. The problem is that a very sophisticated code has locked the door and I'm attempting to decrypt it," McKay said distractedly.

"Well why didn't you just say so in the first place?"

"Huh? Oh…well…I thought you were being facetious because it's obvious the door's not open, and the jamming thing also seemed pretty self-explanatory…I don't know! Just please leave me alone for five minutes so I can figure this out."

"Fine, because that 'possible danger to the city' I had a gut feeling about earlier? It's going to be here in about an hour."

"Thank you ever so much for making me even more aware of that than I already am!" McKay snapped, but didn't turn back around. He was muttering something about Wraith life-sucking algorithms, but before John had time to contemplate what that could possibly mean, Rodney stood up abruptly. "Aha! I think I've got it! Try it now."

John got to his feet and readied his P-90, moving into position to cover Teyla and Ronon who approached the door ahead of him. Ronon reached out and palmed the panel, and after a few moments' hesitation, the doors slid aside. He and Teyla entered, weapons raised, and slowly approached the chair from the left. Sheppard and McKay followed, fanning out to flank the opposite side of the room.

A large man with dark hair and a scraggly goatee occupied the reclined control chair. The man wore the fatigues of Atlantis military, but Sheppard knew this was not one of his subordinates. Getting a good look at Garden Weasel's face for once, John had the vague feeling that they'd met somewhere before their encounter on the pier, but he couldn't put a time or place to the meeting. Nor did he know what the man was up to. The chair's usually bright blue glow was dim at best, and flickered intermittently.

"What's he doing?" whispered McKay.

"How should I know? Our encounters have mostly involved him trying to kill me!" John hissed back.

"He looks nervous."

"Well maybe he got the bulletin about the Wraith arriving in an hour. Wait, make that 53 minutes. Why are we whispering?" John whispered, glancing at Rodney.

"I don't…" Rodney stopped, then spoke at a normal volume, shrugging. "He looked like he was concentrating…" he paused again at Sheppard's dark look. "…which in hindsight is something we wouldn't want. Right."

John shook his head and looked across the room to where Ronon had his gun trained on Garden Weasel. Teyla also had her weapon raised, but seemed uneasy. "Teyla, what's wrong?"

"Colonel…I believe I know this man."

"You _know_ him?" John's jaw dropped, but he quickly regained his composure. "From where?"

"Athos…he settled on the mainland after the Wraith attack. He was one of the last to leave Atlantis. His name is Kehrig."

"Well that would explain why he looks a little familiar. Any idea why he wants to kill us?"

"Us?! I thought it was just _you_!"

Sheppard ignored McKay's outburst and waited for Teyla to answer.

"Help me…please…"

Three sets of eyes immediately turned their focus from Teyla to Kehrig, who was staring at them with wide eyes. Teyla took a couple of steps toward the chair, but not close enough to be within easy reach of the man. "Kehrig, what is it that you are doing?" she asked calmly.

"Teyla…you must stop them…" Kehrig grunted as if in pain and his eyes closed tightly. The light emanating from the chair flickered some more, growing brighter for a few seconds, then dimming again.

"Who must I stop? The Wraith?"

"Yes…they are coming…"

"We know this. It is why we are here, to use the chair's defenses."

"You will all die!" Kehrig roared, his body shaking.

"Does anyone else get the idea that he's a little confused?" Sheppard asked.

"Sounds like he's right on the money to me," McKay muttered.

Teyla only shook her head and tried again. "Kehrig, if you will vacate the chair I am certain that Colonel Sheppard will be happy to take care of the Wraith for us."

Several moments passed before Kehrig spoke brokenly, his chest heaving, "Can't…forcing me…sabotage…drones," he paused and his body went suddenly rigid, as if he were waging an internal battle. "I am in control. You will bow to me!!" he shouted.

"I've had enough of this. Ronon, stun him," John ordered. He noticed Ronon and Teyla exchange glances. She nodded to him and almost as quickly it was done. Kehrig's body lay still on the chair, and the chair itself was no longer glowing, not even faintly as it had been.

They all approached cautiously, and Teyla reached out to feel for Kehrig's pulse. "He is alive, but I believe Dr. Beckett would characterize his pulse as thready."

"Take him to the brig and send Beckett down to check him over. Make sure the doc doesn't go in alone though."

"Of course. If you and Dr. McKay will be all right here, I would like to accompany Ronon. It is possible I can get more information from Kehrig if he wakes."

"Yes, go. Find out what the hell's going on. We'll be fine."

"Thank you." Teyla waited as Ronon picked up Kehrig in a fireman's carry, then followed him toward the brig.

John turned back to Rodney, who was already busy scanning. "Any idea what that guy did to the chair and the drones?"

"Yes, because I'm just that good that I can figure it out in one second flat. Why don't you and your famous gene have a go at it and see if you can do better?"

"Fine. _We_ will." John carefully climbed into the chair and lay back, reaching out with his mind. He closed his eyes and concentrated for several minutes. Finally he felt something happening, but he'd wager it had nothing to do with the chair. As quickly as possible, he pushed himself up.

"Sheppard, what's going on? Nothing happened…why are you getting up? Where are you going?" Rodney ended his stream of questions when he noticed he was being thoroughly ignored and watched with curiosity as John crossed the room to stand beside the Atlantis version of a ficus tree, bent over, and promptly threw up. Rodney scrunched up his nose. "Eww…that is so gross, Sheppard. You know, if you have to be sick, you could at least not kill innocent plants in the process."

Sheppard remained hunched over for several seconds before he spat once more into the plant pot, then straightened up, holding his ribs. "Sorry, McKay, next time I'll aim in your direction." He narrowed his eyes and actually pointed a finger at the scientist. "And don't let those plants fool you. They're not as innocent as they'd like you to believe." John returned to the chair. "Now, where were we?" he said, attempting to connect with the chair once again.

McKay scanned and watched and waited and tapped his foot and aligned some misaligned crystals and drummed his fingers on a console for the next eleven minutes, expecting something…anything…to happen. Then he took a good look at Sheppard and cursed. John's face was flushed and sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes remained closed and his breathing was shallow. "Colonel! Wake up!" Rodney reached out and shook his shoulder. One hazel-green eye opened and regarded him with annoyance.

"What do you want, McKay? I'm trying to concentrate."

"Um, nothing, it's just that…you look like crap."

"Yeah, well, it comes with the territory."

"What territory?"

"Haven't you and Beckett discussed how that plant does what it does to the ATA gene?"

"No, I've been otherwise occupied. Why?"

"Long story short, my immune system is rejecting the chemical produced by the plant's pollen. My gene should be fully functional again soon, and I think trying to use Ancient technology is getting rid of the chemical even faster than usual...but it's obviously not doing wonders for my complexion."

"Oh." Rodney was about to ask how John was able to tell how fast the chemical was leaving his system when Sheppard started speaking again.

"How long do we have before the hive ship arrives?"

McKay glanced at his tablet apprehensively. "Approximately 25 minutes…is that long enough?"

"We're about to find out." John tuned out his surroundings and tried to focus. He could feel the familiar tugging at the edges of his mind that indicated proximity to Ancient technology. He requested the status of the chair, the shield, and the drones, but the reply was sluggish and difficult to understand. It was as if he were receiving a single piece of information at a time, at such a slow pace that he had forgotten how one piece fit into the picture before he could comprehend the next. He supposed Rodney would equate it to dial-up versus broadband.

As the pieces continued to filter in, however, he had the distinct feeling that his connection was approaching broadband levels because certain concepts were slowly beginning to make sense. John waited for what seemed like a week, but suddenly he knew that there was scrambled programming in the drone guidance systems. He also discovered that the shield was disabled and the chair wasn't functioning at full power due to its main power conduits being routed elsewhere.

Reaching out toward the mental picture he had of the power conduits, Sheppard imagined them resuming their normal configuration, using back-up systems to supply enough power in order to do so. He had fixed some similar issues that way in the past. This time, however, his thoughts were having no effect. John tried again, with the same lack of results. Even though he now had a fairly clear idea of what was wrong with the chair and how the drones had been re-programmed, he couldn't seem to do anything to fix it.

Frustration growing, John sighed and decided to see if he could re-train his gene with a simpler task. He tried dimming the lights, and felt the systems respond to him with the equivalent of 'command not recognized'.

"What's wrong?" McKay's voice piped in, noticing the colonel's aggravated expression.

"My gene's still not entirely compatible with the Ancient technology. I can receive status information, I'm just not able to control or fix anything."

"Hmm…well, keep trying. Looking at these scans, I'm quite certain that there's no way I can fix what's been done, at least not without a month and a full-time Ancient language translator."

"It would be helpful if you were quite certain of something that was actually helpful, McKay," Sheppard groused, but turned his attention back to his task and ignored another trademarked Rodney McKay Evil Squint of Doom.

* * *

McKay was pacing laps around the room, muttering to himself, and alternately making sure Sheppard hadn't dropped dead. He was getting worried. The colonel's breathing was somewhat ragged, his face and neck glistened with perspiration, and he hadn't spoken or moved at all in the past fifteen minutes. His alternating expressions of determined concentration and irritation were the only indication that he wasn't unconscious. The inevitable arrival of life-sucking aliens was doing nothing to calm Rodney's nerves either, so when his radio chirped he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

"Yes, yes, what do you want?! You could have given me a heart attack you know!"

"Rodney, is everything all right?" Dr. Weir's voice came over the radio.

"Oh, Elizabeth. Hi. Well, it depends on your definition of 'all right'. I'm not sure how much progress the colonel has made because he's not saying anything, and by my calculations the Wraith are arriving…" he glanced at his watch, "thirty seconds ago. Dammit! Is everything all right up there?"

"For the moment, but that could quickly change since we can't seem to raise the shield. Do you have any idea why it's not responding?"

"No…unless it has something to do with whatever Kehrig did to the chair…" McKay said thoughtfully.

"Who is Kehrig?"

"The psycho Athosian that attacked Sheppard."

"_Athosian?!_"

"Yes, yes. It's a long and entertaining story that I would be happy to relate to you later. Was there anything else you needed? I'm a little busy here."

Elizabeth's voice came back over the radio, heavy with annoyance, "Other than figuring out how to raise the shield, knowing that the chair is functioning so we have the capability to fire drones would be nice…it _is_ functioning, right?"

"Uh…hold on, I'll see if I can get you a status update on that." McKay went over to the chair. "Sheppard, are you getting anywhere?" He got unintelligible mumbling in response and debated shaking him again. He settled for poking John's shoulder repeatedly, and though varying expressions continued to cross the colonel's features, he didn't acknowledge McKay.

"Rodney? What's the status of the drones? Did you talk to John?"

"Um…well…no, not quite. Elizabeth, I think we may have a problem."

"Rodney…"

Elizabeth's warning tone sent McKay into overdrive and he rattled off the situation worriedly, "Sheppard's not responding to me. I don't think he's unconscious, but I'm not sure and he's mumbling about something and breathing like he's been running a marathon, sweating like it too. You'd better get Beckett down here when he's done with Kehrig, and…" he trailed off as a loud boom sounded and the room shook. "What the hell was that?!"

"A Wraith warning shot. Stay where you are and see if you can rouse the colonel. I'll send Beckett. Weir out."

Rodney cast his eyes skyward and threw his hands in the air. "Sheppard, you so owe me! For what I haven't decided yet, but you definitely owe me," he complained, again poking his friend's shoulder and getting no response.

* * *

TBC… 


	10. Waiting Game

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to corkieshome, Titan5, twinchaosblade, Kodiak's Sweet Breath, TheNaggingCube, and Delka for your reviews of Chapter 9. On to Chapter 10… :)

* * *

Chapter 10 / 11

Teyla watched as Carson finished checking on Kehrig, who was lying prone on the floor of one of the holding cells. He had not woken, but Beckett said his vitals were stable and he expected that Kehrig would regain consciousness when the disruptive effects of the stun blast wore off. The physician had been unable to find a reasonable explanation for his earlier actions, however, so the Athosian man remained under confinement.

"Is he from one of the bloodlines that can sense the Wraith?" Ronon asked thoughtfully, stepping from the shadows where he had been standing silently since depositing Kehrig on the floor.

"I am not certain. I do not know his family well, but I can inquire of others if this is so. It would explain—" Teyla suddenly stopped talking and turned around, instinctively facing the doorway. When she spoke again it was with apprehension and distaste. "The Wraith…they come." Ronon's hand instantly strayed to his gun, but Teyla held up her own hand, halting his actions. Momentarily they heard an explosion in the distance, muffled but still quite loud.

Beckett started badly and looked to Teyla, shaking his head. "Sometimes I envy that sixth sense of yours, lass."

"It is a gift that I will ever wish was unnecessary. However, I do hope that Kehrig's actions are so easily accounted for."

"Weir to Dr. Beckett."

Carson jumped again at the sudden communication, but took a deep breath to calm himself and tapped his earpiece. "This is Beckett. Go ahead."

"Carson, you're needed in the chair room. It's John."

"What's he done now? Ah, never mind, I'm on my way."

"Be careful. Several people have reported a dart circling the city."

"Lovely. Beckett out." He picked up his med kit and hurried out of the room, Ronon following. Teyla remained to question Kehrig when he came to.

* * *

Ronon and Beckett made it to the chair room without incident, though Ronon had been listening to reports of weapons fire causing minor damage on the perimeter of the city, and there were more and more sightings of a single dart, apparently doing reconnaissance. Something wasn't right. The Wraith weren't this indirect. They came and they attacked, they fed and they left. It wasn't their style to circle and growl, so to speak. Unless…

"McKay, has Sheppard started firing the drones yet?" Ronon asked.

"No, these systems are a mess. I'm not even sure the drones would fly straight if he did fire them." McKay didn't look up. He was poking furiously at a tablet that was connected to the base of the chair.

"I don't see how the lad can do anything like this. He's burning up," Beckett said, concern heavy in his voice as he released the blood pressure cuff from the colonel's arm. "Rodney, are ya sure he's still tryin' ta connect ta the chair? His pressure's sky high and he's non-responsive."

McKay did look up at that. "Yes, I'm sure. The power readings clearly indicate that interaction is taking place. It's abnormal though, and I don't think he's making a whole lot of progress."

"He'd better make some progress soon, or none of us are going to be around to care," Ronon said, his hearing picking up on what could only have been another impact from the Wraith's weapons.

"Yes, yes, I understand that we don't have a lot of time here!" McKay snapped.

Ronon shook his head. "No, you're not getting it. This isn't the way the Wraith fight. They don't waste ammunition to hit non-critical targets. They're testing us."

"What? Why?"

"They're waiting to see if we retaliate for them firing on us. They're waiting to see if we can."

Carson nodded. "It makes sense. If the Wraith have somehow been communicating with that Kehrig fellow all along as you and Teyla suggested, it'd stand ta reason that they'd think we might be unable ta use the Ancient technology."

"But they probably weren't sure, since those plants were never distributed to the entire population. Not knowing, their logical next step would be to make sure that the city's main defensive system was down either way, which would account for Kehrig trying to sabotage the chair. Now they want to see if he succeeded."

"Wait, so you're telling me that if Sheppard doesn't fire the drones soon and show them we're still in control, they're gonna throw everything they've got at us?!" Rodney's eyes grew wide as he looked at the other two men. "We are so screwed!" McKay stared down at the tablet for a few seconds, his mouth hanging open as panic tried to set in, but then his eyes snapped back up. "Carson! You could fire the drones. I know you hate using the chair, but you haven't been exposed to the pollen. Your gene should still be functioning!"

"And if the colonel weren't still sitting there I might agree, Rodney, but I don't want ta risk just breakin' his connection. That kind of stress could kill him in his present condition."

Rodney's excitement vanished at that and his eyes dropped back to his work. "Yeah, well, I suppose you wouldn't know how to repair the damage anyway. This isn't your usual brand of voodoo."

Carson ignored the minor insult and turned his attention back to John, who lay limply in the chair. The faint flickering glow from the device and the occasional expression of sheer concentration on the colonel's face still suggested that he was conscious, but Beckett found it difficult to be sure.

As time passed, conversation dwindled to non-existent, with Ronon standing like a statue against a nearby wall, a frown crossing his face now and again as he presumably heard something over the radio that he didn't like the sound of. Rodney kept on doing whatever it was he was doing with his tablet and the chair, muttering to himself discontentedly all the while. Beckett, for his part, mostly watched the two of them out of the corner of his eye. There really wasn't much he could do for the colonel at this juncture, other than keep tabs on his vitals, which he took every ten minutes. He had just completed his third vitals check when another explosion sounded, and this time it was close enough to make the floor shudder beneath their feet.

"What was that?!" Rodney asked with no attempt to hide his terror.

Ronon held up a hand, and listened for a moment on his radio. "They just hit one of the power stations. It wasn't destroyed, but they're getting braver."

"Wonderful!" McKay snapped. "Come on, Sheppard, get your ATA-enhanced ass in gear and shoot them already!"

To his surprise he received a quiet, strained reply, "Trying…Rodney."

McKay stared at the readouts scrolling on his tablet and then looked up at Beckett and Ronon. "He's actually getting somewhere! The diagnostics of the drones are reading normal. The drone-chair interface is still sketchy, but it's getting there."

"It better get there fast. Direct hit to the north tower," Ronon reported.

Another tremor shook the floor, and Rodney looked at Beckett nervously as he disconnected the tablet from the chair platform. "I've done everything I can. It's up to him now." They stood staring at Sheppard, as if waiting for something miraculous to happen, but the man's eyes remained closed. They all knew that they would likely not see direct results whether the drones fired or not, but even so, Ronon had joined them in watching the colonel.

So intent was he on waiting for the drones to fire and praying to any listening deity that the Wraith would not blow him up and/or suck the life out of him that Rodney jumped, as had become his custom, when his radio once again chirped in his ear. He tapped it. "Yes, what?"

"Rodney, Dr. Zelenka has just told me that the Wraith have locked weapons on the structure you're currently occupying, and we still don't have power to the shield," Weir's voice said urgently. "You need to get out of there right now!"

"I'd be happy to, Elizabeth, but Conan's theory about what's going on here just doesn't allow for that at the moment. Us getting blown up will be the least of your problems if he's right."

"Would one of you care to explain this theory, gentlemen?"

"There's no time!" Rodney was gearing up to explain why there was no time when Zelenka's voice shouted in his ear.

"They're charging weapons, you fool! Get out of there! They're firing!"

Rodney felt like he might throw up and from the look on Carson's face, the doctor wasn't doing much better. McKay did the only thing he could do, the only thing that came naturally to him. "Sheppard, you're out of time, dammit! Fire those drones or I swear I will make you drink every last bit of that Athosian mud soup at the next harvest festival!" Drawing a shaky breath, a calm came over him and he stopped shouting, ignored the look Ronon was giving him, closed his eyes, and waited for the end.

…and waited. McKay cracked one eye open and gradually relaxed from the full-body

cringe he'd adopted while expecting to be vaporized. "Why aren't we dead?" he asked.

Ronon grunted with amusement and pointed to the chair. Rodney followed his line of sight and found the answer to his question in the form of two half-open, glassy hazel-green eyes. "Sheppard!" McKay grinned.

John gave him the smallest of nods and smiled tiredly, then raised his hand and fumbled for his radio switch. "Elizabeth, what's your status?" he all but mumbled the question.

"John! It's good to hear your voice. You had us worried. Everything's fine up here for the moment. We're not sure why we were unable to raise the shield, but it's working now, and the drones you fired hit their targets. The hive is still in orbit, and there are a couple of darts in the area that managed to avoid the drones, but all weapons fire ceased when they realized the shield was in place and our weapons were back online. They have yet to try and communicate with us."

"Good. Keep me informed. Sheppard out." John closed his eyes, only to have a familiar voice call his name persistently. He sighed and blinked, not recognizing the ceiling above him as the one that normally greeted him when he heard that voice. "Carson. What's up?"

"Ya checked out on us for a second there, lad."

"Sorry, Rodney's yelling and all this excitement must be getting to me."

"Hey! I was only offering encouragement. And in case you haven't noticed, it worked!"

John decided the least painful thing would be to go along with Rodney for the time being. There would be plenty of opportunities during the debriefing to correct him about who had actually done the important work. "Yeah, it did. Thanks, McKay." He sent the chair a final command and it glowed its usual bright blue as it set him back upright, then turned dark. John got to his feet, but when he tried to take a step forward his knees turned to jelly and he felt Carson grab his arm and lower him back into the chair as the room swayed alarmingly.

"Easy, son. That fever's bound ta make ya weak. I've already sent for a wheelchair, so you just stay put for now."

"Seriously, Doc, you're not giving me much incentive here." Despite what he now knew about Kehrig and other matters surrounding his polar plunge earlier, John's newfound paranoia of wheelchairs was soaring at full throttle and he attempted to get up again. Beckett's hands on his shoulders easily restrained him.

"Seriously, Colonel, ya need ta wait," Beckett retorted, exasperated and worried, but his expression softened as he noticed the hint of apprehension in John's eyes. "I can promise ya we won't go anywhere near the water, lad, but ya can barely stand right now. Let us look after ya for tonight and this time tomorrow you'll be in your quarters, so long as your fever's gone down."

John let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and nodded in agreement. He'd feel a whole lot better once he knew the Wraith weren't hanging around in orbit anymore, but for the time being they had the shield and Atlantis was relatively safe. Secure in that knowledge, John let the world around him fade a little while he waited for Beckett's cohorts to arrive.

* * *

TBC… 


	11. Between Science and Superstition

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to corkieshome, Delka, twinchaosblade, faldo, and Jack-rocks for your reviews of Chatper 10! I had a great time writing this over the last few months, so I'm glad you've all enjoyed reading it. Thanks again. :)

* * *

Chapter 11 / 11 

**2Smart4U:** They just gave up.

**JumpersRCool:** Really?

**2Smart4U:** Yep. Fired a couple times at the shield and it didn't go down, so they left.

**JumpersRCool:** Huh. I wonder why…

**2Smart4U:** Who cares? They're gone and that garden is being exterminated with fire as we speak.

**JumpersRCool:** It's a pity, really. I mean, some of that stuff would've been good eating.

**2Smart4U:** You would say that, until the tomatoes started making your hair fall out or something. I say good riddance. The botanists got all the samples they wanted to study. They can figure out what the Wraith were up to, and I don't have to get killed by Wraith-enhanced lemons in the process. Besides, I have important work I need to get back to.

**JumpersRCool:** Like comparing notes about this incident with that cute brunette botanist?

**2Smart4U:** Bite me, Kirk.

**JumpersRCool:** LOL

**2Smart4U:** So Carson finally finished practicing his voodoo on you?

**JumpersRCool:** Yep, early this afternoon. Speaking of Carson, have you been to see him? Surely you've started to reject the pollen by now.

**2Smart4U:** No, thank you. I'd much rather deal with my upset stomach alone in my lab than become the witchdoctor's prisoner.

**JumpersRCool:** Agreed. It's good to officially be a free man…well, officially free to be resting in my quarters.

**2Smart4U:** But you're not, are you? Wait, don't tell me. I don't want to be an accessory.

**JumpersRCool:** I'm resting on the balcony. It's not that different.

**2Smart4U:** Tell that to Carson.

**2Smart4U:** Dammit! Now I have to delete this log or there is evidence!

**JumpersRCool:** You save our IM logs? Rodney, I never knew you cared. grin

**2Smart4U:** I save them for purposes of blackmail only!!

**2Smart4U:** Just for that, I should Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V this right to Carson…

**JumpersRCool:** Don't waste your time. You've already spoken of the devil enough to summon him. We'll talk about this later. G2G.

John quickly ended the conversation and closed his laptop when he heard the door to the balcony slide open and saw Beckett step out. "Carson," he greeted.

"Colonel. Why is it that I wasn't surprised when ya weren't in your quarters just now?" Beckett was clearly not happy.

"Because you know me so well?" John's attempt at humor fell flat when Beckett continued to glare at him. Sheppard sighed. "I just needed some fresh air, Doc. Look, I'm resting, but it seems like all I've done for the past two days is sleep."

Beckett considered the truth in his words. John had been utterly exhausted after the ordeal in the chair room, both from illness and the effort of fixing the drones, and he'd slept for fourteen hours straight after they'd gotten him settled in the infirmary. His fever had broken during the night and the residual congestion was quickly clearing now that the pollen was completely out of his system. Aside from being a bit too pale, the man sitting in the lounge chair before him looked relaxed and remarkably better. Not one hundred percent healthy by any means, but healing. Nodding to himself, Beckett asked, "How're you feeling?"

"Sore. My back gets stiff if I sit too long," he held up a hand to forestall the imminent question, "and yes I'm taking the painkillers you gave me when I need them. It's coming along."

"Good. I thought ya might like ta know that Kehrig's been released. Ronon and Teyla are flying back ta the mainland with him tonight. Teyla plans ta alert her people of what took place, and Kehrig will be watched closely in the months to come, although they don't anticipate any problems. I ran some tests on Kehrig after Teyla and Ronon theorized what was going on with him, and the results were consistent with Teyla's condition while under Wraith influence. The Wraith were indeed controlling Kehrig, they just had much more control over him than they had over Teyla."

"I thought the Athosians had to try really hard to establish a link with the Wraith. How did they manage to forge such a deep connection with Kehrig?"

"Well, we know that once contact has been made all bets are off. After talking with him at length, Teyla thinks that Kehrig formed the initial link somewhat by accident through meditation and then wasn't strong enough ta fight the connection, allowing the Wraith to assume complete control of his body and his mind. His basic personality traits probably remained intact as much as the Wraith deigned necessary, allowing his interaction with our people and the other Athosians ta appear fairly normal. I imagine that's why no one noticed he was here. They just passed him off as another Athosian visitor. Also, with his knowledge of the layout of Atlantis, the Wraith could control his movements rather easily without drawing too much suspicion."

"As a kid I always imagined what it would be like to have telepathic powers, to be able to read minds. I never really considered mind-control as a possible consequence." Sheppard rubbed his chin pensively, "Any idea what caused him to realize he was being controlled? He tried to warn us about the sabotage when we found him in the chair room."

Beckett shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure how he was even able ta sabotage the chair as he's not a carrier of the ATA gene. Kehrig remembers little of the past three months so he wasn't able ta offer much insight, but Rodney thinks that interacting with the chair somehow disrupted his connection with the Wraith just enough that he was able ta communicate briefly. Rodney also believes that the Wraith may have had deep enough control of Kehrig's body ta temporarily mask his life signs as they do their own during hibernation. That may be why we were unable ta track him on the sensors at times."

John frowned. "Is that even physically possible?"

"I don't know, lad. The Wraith are a strange species. It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if they had a way ta make that happen."

"Me neither." John looked up at the evening sky, wondering not for the first time—nor for the last, he was sure—what the Wraith were up to. The idea that he and the rest of the people in Atlantis had apparently been slated to be test subjects for Wraith trying to nullify the ATA gene was profoundly disturbing, even if the experiment had been conducted through the unaware actions of an Athosian named Kehrig. Possibly even more disquieting was the fact that they had been left with more questions than answers. Presumably the Wraith had genetically engineered the plants themselves, or did so through the hands of Kehrig, but where had the initial work been done? They had found no evidence of a lab on or near the pier. Did the Wraith intend to finish their experiment in the future? Would more Athosians be at risk of being manipulated? Why had his own nightmares resembled the actual course of events? There John stopped himself. That was getting a little too close to _Twilight Zone_ material, though so was the Pegasus Galaxy in general most of the time. _Rod Serling, eat your heart out_, he thought.

"Don't stay out here too long," Beckett cautioned, drawing John out of his ruminations. "I meant what I said about you taking it easy, and that includes resting in your quarters. You're still recovering, even if ya don't feel tired right now."

"Okay, Mom," John drawled, and grinned at the doc.

"Cheeky bugger," Carson muttered, shaking his head in feigned annoyance as he turned and left the balcony. John's grin widened at Beckett's comment and he relaxed into the chair as the sky faded from orange to a dusty purple. If this was the Twilight Zone then he supposed he liked it just fine, Wraith mind-control be damned.

* * *

THE END! 


End file.
